Thirteen Table Settings
by daleksigma
Summary: All thirteen Doctors have received a mysterious summons to Christmas dinner. Can they actually make it through a holiday meal together without a) throwing the food, b) bickering, or c) blatantly telling each other vital information about their own future?


_First Doctor_

The cold wind was biting through the First Doctor's coat. He wished his were wearing a scarf—or perhaps a hat. His body wasn't as young as it had once been, and it chilled easily.

He gazed over his surroundings. He was currently standing upon a snow-swept front walk. It was the dead of night, but the whole area was lit by white twinkling lights, which made the few snowflakes that floated in the wind glisten nicely.

_Christmas lights_, he thought. Another one of those inane traditions that these humans kept. He'd never understood why Susan was so enamored with these primitives.

Speaking of…he appeared to be alone. Where was Susan? And those two schoolteachers whom he'd been forced to abduct—Barbara Wright and Ian Chatterton? Chesterton? Something approximating that. Not even the Ship was nearby.

Thinking about it, he had no recollection of arriving here, or—what was that piece of paper in his hand? He peered down at it. It was written in the humans' language—one of them at least.

_My Dear Doctor,_ _Your presence is requested at Christmas Dinner. I have invited a company of people who I assure you you will find most pleasant._ _With love,_ _A friend_ _P.S. I have taken the liberty of arranging your transport._

How exceedingly odd. No signature beyond "a friend," but clearly this was someone powerful enough to abduct him from his ship and set him on this snowy porch. He'd better go in and see what it was all about.

He was nearly on the step when he noticed another man was already standing there, his hand poised to knock. He was an old man, wearing a worn old leather jacket and sporting a beard. His eyes had a deadened look to them, as if he had seen and done too much.

The bearded man stared at him for a moment, his eyes widening.

"My dear fellow," the first doctor began.

"You!" the bearded man said.

"Yes, me. But I'm afraid I don't know you. Have you any idea what could have brought the two of us here?"

"That's what I intend to find out," the man said, not meeting his gaze. "I figured it was another of the Dalek's time traps, but now that you're here, it could be something much, much worse."

"You've met the Daleks too, eh?"

The man's gaze lingered on the First Doctor for a moment, and his mouth twitched. He appeared to be about to respond to the question, then turned away.

"I s'pose we have to knock," the man said.

"Yes, I believe we'd better," the first Doctor said.

He raised a hand and knocked on the door.

_Second Doctor_

"Jamie? Zoe?" The Second Doctor spun in a circle, trying to locate his friends through the mist of snow that was falling more and more heavily every second. "Jamie!"

He was standing on a porch, holding what appeared to be a scrap of paper in his hand—a scrap of paper that was clearly requesting his presence here, for Christmas.

Oh crumbs. He'd been abducted, for sure, so he'd better do as this "friend" said. He rapped quickly on the door.

It swung open to reveal a white haired man in a—just a moment now. "You're me! What am I doing here?" he exclaimed.

"My dear boy, I had the exact same question," he looked the second doctor up and down. "And a few more questions as to my own future choices, it so happens. But never mind that. It appears that we are expected to dine."

The Second Doctor stepped through the door into a large high-ceilinged room. It was warmer inside, that was for sure. A Christmas tree sat in the corner of the room next to an enormous table glittering with plates and cups. A fine white table cloth was draped over the whole table, and as he looked more closely, he saw that there were thirteen places set.

"All thirteen of my regenerations, I assume," the First Doctor said.

"Oh dear," said the Second.

_Third Doctor_

This was simply outrageous. Did the Time Lords think that they could just have him appear places without his consent? He was thrilled to be anywhere but stuck with UNIT, to be sure, but he was not some sort of puppet that they could teleport across the universe at will.

Never mind that. He'd knocked on the door just like their little note (curiously written in English, as if they were mocking him) had said, and now he was standing in a large dining room beside a table set with thirteen place settings. And across the table from him were two of his past regenerations. What could the Time Lords be playing at?

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"And a merry Christmas to you too," the Second Doctor replied, crossing his arms.

"I don't have time for your playing around," the Third Doctor said. "Who brought us here?"

"Well, my boy, we're just as in the dark as you are," the First Doctor said. "I presume you received a note signed by a 'friend'?"

"It's the Time Lords, I'd bet my life," the Third Doctor snapped.

"The Time Lords? Oh my, they haven't caught up with us yet, have they?" the Second Doctor said.

"They have. What I don't understand is what we're meant to do here."

"Well, it's not good snapping at me, is it?" the second Doctor said.

"My dear fellow, just because you're my past self does not mean that—"

"You always did bicker," a gravelly voice said from the shadows.

"Another of our regenerations, I've assumed," the First Doctor said, glancing nervously at the leather-clad old man.

"Unfortunately, yes," the War Doctor said. "It could very well be the Time Lords, but I don't see their motive in sending us here. We're far away from the War."

"War?"

The War Doctor turned away. "We'll wait and see who else of us appears. Until then, I hope my past selves can refrain from acting their ages."

_Fourth Doctor_

"I can see your concern, but as far as I know, we've all been invited to a nice Christmas dinner and we shouldn't refuse their hospitality. Wars can start that way, you know." The Fourth Doctor paused as he fished in his pocket. "Jelly baby, anyone?"

The ghost of a smile appeared on the War Doctor's lips, as if what the Fourth Doctor had said was a fond memory. He supposed that to this far-off future incarnation, he was but a memory. And he was certainly very gratified to find he was a fond one.

No one answered.

"No, I suppose you don't want to spoil your appetite." He grinned toothily at them and selected a yellow one before putting them back in his pocket.

He peered across the table at his three past incarnations and one future. "I don't suppose any of you were the one who brought us here?"

"I'm afraid not," the Third Doctor said. "We're just as in the dark as you are."

"Well, then, there's only one answer: we must wait."

The Fourth Doctor leaned back and looped his scarf around the back of his chair to make a pillow. This could be a rather pleasant evening.

_Fifth Doctor_

Between Adric, Nyssa, and Tegan, the Fifth Doctor had had enough of trying to break up childish fights. Therefore, he was exceedingly grateful that his second and third incarnations had been moved to opposite sides of the table by the time he arrived. He remembered being them when they had met. He had simply never been able to get along with himself.

He had settled into a peaceful conversation with his first incarnation while they made faces at each other from across the table, and his fourth incarnation appeared to be taking the time to nap using his scarf as a pillow, a blanket, and a way to cover his eyes. The last man in the room, the brooding one with the leather jacket, kept drawing the fifth doctor's eyes, but he didn't like to be rude. Whoever that was, he was sure he would find out sometime in the future.

"Susan's well?" he asked, searching for a conversation topic.

"Splendid, splendid. Though the other night two of her schoolteachers followed her home, and we had to fly off with them—"

"Ian and Barbara. Yes, I remember."

"Of course you do, you're my future."

"Here we are, making conversation about our family as if we've been invited to a real Christmas dinner."

"Yes, we've been quite sucked in by this funny human tradition."

The Fifth Doctor shook his head. It was odd to talk to himself back before he had grown fond of the human race. He was quite glad that he was not the man he once was.

_Sixth Doctor_

They were all clearly jealous. The second he'd strutted into this oddly arranged Christmas dinner party in his rainbow coat—perfectly fitting for the occasion—he'd been met with dropping jaws and wide-eyed stares. He knew what his past selves were thinking: here was a man that epitomized everything that he had grown to be over his many incarnations, the culmination of many years of experience.

Except for that bearded one sitting slightly away from the rest, who was clearly his future—he seemed to be smiling oddly. Maybe it was just nostalgia for the person he had once been. Yes, that was clearly it.

"Well, haven't I grown," the fourth doctor said, flashing his toothy grin.

"Grown in many ways, not just in appearance, I assure you," the Sixth Doctor boomed.

The second doctor gave an odd cough that sounded suspiciously like "ego."

"A little self-assurance never harmed anyone," the Sixth Doctor said. "Now, to business. We've been invited to Christmas dinner by a mysterious person, and they've clearly forgotten to provide the food."

"How inconsiderate," the Fourth Doctor said.

"Perhaps we should ask for a refund," the second doctor said.

"Don't be absurd. We haven't paid," the Third Doctor said.

"Quiet," the War Doctor growled. "As...abrasive as my most recent past self was, he brings up a good point. Why call this Christmas dinner if we are meant to sit here around an empty table?"

"Well…not empty. There are cups and plates," the Fourth Doctor said. He held up a goblet.

"Empty of food," the First Doctor said.

All the Doctors looked at the Sixth Doctor.

"Don't look to me for an answer," the Sixth Doctor said. "I was the one who brought up the question."

_Seventh Doctor_

"Chrrrristmas dinner. Now here's the question: who would attempt to pass themselves off as our friend whilst still remaining so hidden from us?" The Seventh Doctor leaned across the table to face his former selves—and of course, his one future self. "Clearly, we're dealing with an evil force from beyond nature. A being that is capable of bringing down TARDISes must be."

"I suppose I have flair for the dramatic in the future," the Fifth Doctor said.

"It could be," the War Doctor said, ignoring the Fifth Doctor. "Rassilon could have concocted something like that in one of his experiments."

"Indeed," the Seventh Doctor said. "And we are no ordinary Time Lord, so trapping us must have some greater purpose."

There was quite a silence after that pronouncement. That was good. The Seventh Doctor was already concocting a plan that would be able to stop any being of such power. All he needed now was to come face to face with the fiend.

_Eighth Doctor_

"All eight of me, all in one room. I'm surprised you haven't torn the walls off yet," the Eighth Doctor said. "Or set fire to the house."

"No, but I imagine the temporal anomalies are quite funny looking now," the Fourth Doctor said.

As the Fourth Doctor said it, food appeared on the table from nowhere. Smells of mashed potato, turkey, fresh bread, and an assortment of freshly baked pies (set down at the end of the table, presumably for desert) wafted through the air. The Second Doctor, who had his elbows resting on the table, ended up with one arm buried in an enormous dish of mashed potatoes.

"Think it's dangerous?" the Eighth Doctor asked.

"It looks quite delicious to me," his absurd-looking sixth self proclaimed as he speared a large piece of turkey and began to tuck in.

"Quite a bit better than Mel's carrrrrrot juice, I imagine," the Seventh Doctor said.

"Mel?" the Sixth Doctor asked. "I'm afraid I haven't reached that point in time."

The Eighth Doctor laughed, and the Sixth turned to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Oh you'll find out," the Eighth Doctor said.

Meanwhile, the Third and Second Doctors were busy lobbing bits of mashed potato at each other from across the table. The War Doctor put his head in his hands. "What could possibly make my past selves so childish?"

"They're young," the Eighth Doctor said.

The War Doctor nodded. "Hopefully my future selves will be more grown up." He seemed slightly put out by the thought. "I didn't think I had any, and yet there are still four more places at the table…"

_The Ninth Doctor_

"You!"

It was _him_. Not _him. _He couldn't be here. The Ninth Doctor didn't care that his past selves had showed up at this travesty of a Christmas feast, but he wouldn't stand to be in the same room with _that_ one. Not the one who had—who had—who had done what he'd done.

He wouldn't sit, not at the same table with that warrior—that man who didn't even deserve the name of Doctor. But thinking about it, he scarcely deserved to sit at a table with his past incarnations either. There was blood on his hands that wasn't on theirs.

A handful of mashed potato came flying through the air from one of the ends of the table, and hit him upside the head. The potato dripped down over his big ear and fell onto the collar of his jacket in one hot, drippy mess. "Hey! Cut that out!"

"I'm sorry, they simply can't be controlled," the First Doctor said. "Please, sit and eat."

"I'm fine, thanks. Had a nice big meal before I came."

"Well, you don't have to stand," the Eighth Doctor said. "You're a Doctor. I'm a Doctor—"

"—everyone's a Doctor," the Fourth Doctor finished. "It's awfully unkind of you to refuse our host's hospitality."

"And who's that exactly? Haven't got the chance to make the acquaintance."

"If you don't want to sit by the potato-flingers, sit by me," the Fifth Doctor said.

Not happening. His fifth incarnation was sitting too close to the one who'd fought. His fourth incarnation had said that they were all Doctors, but that wasn't true, was it? That warrior wasn't.

The War Doctor looked up. "You're my future self?"

The Ninth Doctor didn't answer. He had the vague idea that he wanted to punch that man, but what would that violence accomplish?

The War Doctor didn't give up. "I must be very lucky."

"Lucky's not the word I would use," the Ninth Doctor said shortly. "Who invited you, anyway?"

"I received the invitation just as everyone else did." The War Doctor said, not meeting his eye. "As far as I'm concerned, I don't belong either, but then again, as far as I'm concerned, you shouldn't exist. Yet here we both are."

"Yeah. Here we are."

"Please, sit," the First Doctor said. "The Turkey's getting cold, and you may end up pelted with another of my more childish future's globs if you don't."

The Ninth Doctor considered walking out. He didn't do this sort of sit-down-for-dinner stuff, but if he wanted to find out what was going on, he would have to. He took a seat, as far away from his genocidal self as possible.

_Tenth Doctor_

"Turkey! And mashed potatoes! You know, I haven't had a decent turkey in…oh, a hundred years or so. You should taste the one that Jackie Tyler makes—bleh." He made a face. "All of me, here. Christmas dinner!"

"I wouldn't trust Jackie with a packet of crisps, much less a turkey," the Ninth Doctor said, his face breaking out into what the Tenth Doctor imagined was the first smile he'd smiled since he arrived. He'd had a major seriousness thing going on in that incarnation.

"That's what I kept telling Rose, but she insisted that we eat Christmas dinner. Better than that time we had Christmas on Velton 3, though. That turkey had parts that were definitely not normal on a bird. Best puddings in the universe, though. I told Rose to skip the main course anyway. And then there was that time—"

"She's alright, then?" The Ninth Doctor interrupted him.

"Who, Rose? Splendid. Never better!" the Tenth Doctor said, playing with his napkin under the table. None of his past selves would know any differently if he lied about it. "We're…still together. All good. No problem."

It was good to pretend that she wasn't trapped in a parallel world. That was what his ninth self wanted to hear. There was no point in telling his past self that traveling with Martha would never be the same and there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't miss her. No, it was better to pretend. Then he could be happy for a little while.

The Ninth Doctor smiled more widely at that.

"Rose Tyler—someone from our future?" the Eighth Doctor said. "My memory never fails to fail me, but I'm sure I'd remember someone you speak so fondly of."

"Yeah, she's your future," the Tenth Doctor said, before he realized what was coming out of his mouth.

_She's your whole future, and you'll be nothing without her._

"It's good to know I have such a long and happy one, then," the War Doctor said.

The Tenth Doctor spun around. "You!"

There was a tense silence, which was finally broken by a splash of mashed potato knocking over the gravy boat and the Third Doctor saying, "What could I have possibly done in the future that one of my selves isn't welcome?"

No one answered that.

_Eleventh Doctor_

He much preferred dinner with Amy and Rory. Or River, though River spent a lot less time on dinner and a lot more on either kissing him or getting into trouble. He wasn't sure which he liked better. But dinner with himself was perfectly nice too.

He took the place beside his third self down at the end of the table, and was instantly hit in the face with some potato.

"Hey!" He straightened his bow tie—cool—and tried to salvage his dignity by wiping it off of his face and pelting it back at the Third Doctor.

Suddenly, the air was thick with potato. A potato fight with himself! River would have called it childish. Lucky she wasn't here, he thought as he ducked under the table to avoid a volley from the Second Doctor.

If he had bothered to look up, he would have seen the War Doctor and the Ninth Doctor making their first eye contact that wasn't hostile, both shaking their heads.

"Question," the Twelfth Doctor said. He had just gotten all of his past selves to be quiet (by yelling at them to shut up no less than five times), and now finally had their attention. "Who brought us all here? Possibility: they're in the kitchen."

He was about to march off to the kitchen to check (his other selves obviously hadn't bothered, but the sooner he got out of here, the sooner he could go and find Clara and take her to see the moonlight on Genesis 4 like he'd been promising to do) when the War Doctor stood up.

The Eleventh Doctor started, as if he hadn't noticed that his Time War incarnation was present with the rest of them. The Twelfth Doctor suspected he was about to shout "You!" and so decided to preempt him. "He didn't blow up Gallifrey, you only thought you did, and now it's trapped in a pocket universe where I can't find it. If you're all done arguing, we can go check the kitchen."

He'd been a liar in the past. Now, he simply didn't see the point. People didn't need to be lied to. He didn't need to hide his face in hugs and kisses like his last two incarnations did.

He ignored the shocked looks on the Ninth, Tenth, and Eleventh Doctor's faces.

"Don't go in there," the War Doctor said.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because I know what's in there."

"That's why you arrived at the wrong time, eh?" the First Doctor said. "You, of all of us, were the only one who appeared before many of your past selves."

The War Doctor nodded.

"You know what's in there, and no one else does, and I assume you've been lying the whole time to cover whatever it is up." The Twelfth Doctor really hated himself sometimes. "I'm checking the kitchen."

He pulled open the door.

_War Doctor_

Foreknowledge could be dangerous. In a time war, foreknowledge could be deadly. But with his past and future selves—all thirteen of him—sometimes, foreknowledge just made him look like an idiot.

The moment his future self threw open the door, a woman flew out of it and planted a great big kiss on his mouth. The Twelfth Doctor jumped back, nearly tripping over his own feet.

The woman twirled her umbrella around and straightened her hat. "My dear Doctor," she said. "How sweet of you to join us. I knew you'd figure it out eventually."

"You!" the Twelfth Doctor said.

The War Doctor sighed. In truth, he'd never gotten an invitation. He'd been tracking the Master after he'd disappeared from the Cruciform and had happened to run into his past self before he could find his old enemy.

After that, it was simply a matter of playing along with the Master's plan until he made a mistake that allowed the Doctor to nab him and return him to Gallifrey. All of that, foiled by his stubborn angry-eyebrowed future self.

Missy smiled wider, dancing around the Twelfth Doctor. "Me. And me. And me. And me. And me. Oh, and me and me and me."

She stood back, and her past incarnations began filing out of the kitchen, one by one. They grabbed chairs from along the wall beside the table and joined the Doctors at the feast. Two with beards, one all burned and blackened, one dressed in an absurd time lord garb, one bald, one with grey hair, and one with a young face and a business suit.

All the Doctors simply stared.

"What," Missy said, rolling her eyes. "Did you think I'd really have Christmas dinner without my boyfriend?"


End file.
